| |
| BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:— | |
| “Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene, | |
| Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee, | |
| sign of glory; thou seest it here. | |
| Not lightly did I with my life escape! | 5 |
| In war under water this work I essayed | |
| with endless effort; and even so | |
| my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me. | |
| Not a whit could I with Hrunting do | |
| in work of war, though the weapon is good; | 10 |
| yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me | |
| to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging, | |
| old, gigantic,—how oft He guides | |
| the friendless wight!—and I fought with that brand, | |
| felling in fight, since fate was with me, | 15 |
| the house’s wardens. That war-sword then | |
| all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it, | |
| battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back | |
| from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds, | |
| death-fall of Danes, as was due and right. | 20 |
| And this is my hest, that in Heorot now | |
| safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band, | |
| and every thane of all thy folk | |
| both old and young; no evil fear, | |
| Scyldings’ lord, from that side again, | 25 |
| aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!” | |
| Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader, | |
| hoary hero, in hand was laid, | |
| giant-wrought, old. So owned and enjoyed it | |
| after downfall of devils, the Danish lord, | 30 |
| wonder-smiths’ work, since the world was rid | |
| of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God, | |
| murder-marked, and his mother as well. | |
| Now it passed into power of the people’s king, | |
| best of all that the oceans bound | 35 |
| who have scattered their gold o’er Scandia’s isle. | |
| Hrothgar spake—the hilt he viewed, | |
| heirloom old, where was etched the rise | |
| of that far-off fight when the floods o’erwhelmed, | |
| raging waves, the race of giants | 40 |
| (fearful their fate!), a folk estranged | |
| from God Eternal: whence guerdon due | |
| in that waste of waters the Wielder paid them. | |
| So on the guard of shining gold | |
| in runic staves it was rightly said | 45 |
| for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought, | |
| best of blades, in bygone days, | |
| and the hilt well wound.—The wise-one spake, | |
| son of Healfdene; silent were all:— | |
| “Lo, so may he say who sooth and right | 50 |
| follows ’mid folk, of far times mindful, | |
| a land-warden old, 1 that this earl belongs | |
| to the better breed! So, borne aloft, | |
| thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf, | |
| far and wide o’er folksteads many. Firmly thou shalt all maintain, | 55 |
| mighty strength with mood of wisdom. Love of mine will I assure thee, | |
| as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay in future, | |
| in far-off years, to folk of thine, | |
| to the heroes a help. Was not Heremod thus | |
| to offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings, | 60 |
| nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter, | |
| for doom of death to the Danishmen. | |
| He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades, | |
| companions at board! So he passed alone, | |
| chieftain haughty, from human cheer. | 65 |
| Though him the Maker with might endowed, | |
| delights of power, and uplifted high | |
| above all men, yet blood-fierce his mind, | |
| his breast-hoard, grew; no bracelets gave he | |
| to Danes as was due; he endured all joyless | 70 |
| strain of struggle and stress of woe, | |
| long feud with his folk. Here find thy lesson! | |
| Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee, | |
| wise from lapsed winters. Wondrous seems | |
| how to sons of men Almighty God | 75 |
| in the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom, | |
| estate, high station: He swayeth all things. | |
| Whiles He letteth right lustily fare | |
| the heart of the hero of high-born race,— | |
| in seat ancestral assigns him bliss, | 80 |
| his folk’s sure fortress in fee to hold, | |
| puts in his power great parts of the earth, | |
| empire so ample, that end of it | |
| this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none. | |
| So he waxes in wealth; nowise can harm him | 85 |
| illness or age; no evil cares | |
| shadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens | |
| from ever an enemy: all the world | |
| wends at his will; no worse he knoweth, | |
| till all within him obstinate pride | 90 |
| waxes and wakes while the warden slumbers, | |
| the spirit’s sentry; sleep is too fast | |
| which masters his might, and the murderer nears, | |
| stealthily shooting the shafts from his bow! | |
